


Why Not Me?

by Bincal



Series: When Three Words Aren’t Enough [1]
Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Dom Bobby, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Pain, Smut, Sub Hanbin, Top Bobby, Unrequited Love, bottom hanbin, dont read this if u r sad, or do idk ur preference, why did I write this I’m hurtingg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 01:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21090905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bincal/pseuds/Bincal
Summary: Bobby always comes back, but he can never give Hanbin exactly what he’s looking for.





	Why Not Me?

He’s back again for the weekend, Hanbin knows it. Didn’t even have to ask; he can tell through the blunt _ ‘u busy?’ _that appears on his phone. 

And Hanbin should say yes, or turn off his phone and pretend he hadn’t seen it altogether. But he’s an idiot, a desperate one at that, and the slight lurch his stomach does when the message pings on his lockscreen is enough to have him replying automatically. 

Even if doing so simultaneously has his heart aching painfully in his chest.   


Hanbin dislikes himself on a good day. But on a bad day, he loathes his very existence.  


Bobby lets himself in with the spare key his friend had lent him at some benign point in their friendship. Hanbin doesn’t even move from his curled up position in bed to greet him, listening idly to the sound of him taking his shoes off and presumably dumping his jacket somewhere. 

He half-sits up when the door opens; a head inconspicuously peeking through before the whole body followed and closed the door behind itself. 

“Not good?” The worry in Bobby’s gaze as he scans the other only has him sinking in on himself more, incapable of hiding the persistently dull mellowness that he usually shoves behind a smile. 

“Tired.” Is all he lets out, though Bobby oddly seems to get it. He knows, likely, that Hanbin will not tell him what’s wrong. Not really. At least, not like this. 

So he smiles, just a tentative curl that could only slightly distract from the concerned scrunch of eyebrows above it. “Wanna let off some steam?”

Once again, Hanbin is presented with a question with an answer that should be so simple, so easy, the offer being everything he knows will only hurt him more. But a ‘no’ could never escape the tip of his tongue, no matter how much he wishes it could. So he swallows the word down, dropping his head to give a curt nod instead. 

He feels more then sees the dip in the bed then, the arms that hover for barely a second before placing themselves on his arms to gently push him down. He lets it happen, as he does with anything Bobby ever does. 

Then he has lips on his cheek, his jaw, his neck, the juncture in his shoulder, lightly nipping on his collarbone. Anywhere but his lips; no, that would signify too much, snap too many delusions.

It doesn’t take long for them both to strip, then reattach themselves with a practiced ease. Hanbin’s hands find home in Bobby’s hair; not tugging but caressing, running his trembling fingers through the damaged locks. 

Bobby’s own hands run down his body in a sort of patient fervour, tweaking his nipples slightly on the way. It doesn’t take long for Hanbin to be breathless and needy beneath his hands, too intimate with each of his weaknesses. 

He reaches over the younger for the bottle of lube on the bedside table, laid there beforehand in preparation. This was predicted, after all. A habit; worse than that. An addiction: ugly in its withdrawal and uglier yet in its relapse. 

Bobby wordlessly slips a lubed finger in, the feeling uncomfortably familiar. Yet its effect on Hanbin never changes, the sharp breath he forces in to compose himself a frequent response. 

He certainly doesn’t blame Bobby for it, in that sense. He doesn’t exactly have anything new or interesting left to offer. He’s mundane, to put it kindly, but comfortable. And available, desperately so. 

That‘s the only reason Bobby ever comes back. 

Soon enough, he’s three-fingers in and huffing haphazardly. All it took was a curl, aimed in that _ specific _spot, and Hanbin is coming in short spurts over his stomach. 

But Bobby isn’t done. Unfortunately for him, the other knows exactly what he needs when he’s like this. So he massages him through it, past the point of overstimulation, knowing that the pain only made Hanbin’s dick ache and harden again. 

He hums with approval above him, the only noise he has made since the start of their act, when he notices the other’s member jerk in an attempt to stiffen again. A praising _ good boy _is shortly muttered into the curve of Hanbin’s shoulder, prying lips following shortly after to mouth at the sensitive skin there. 

“I want you to make noise.” Hanbin shakes his head in response, trying pathetically to save some wrongly imagined sense of dignity. Not that it mattered, because Bobby had heard it all already. 

Even the things that he really shouldn’t have heard. 

So when teeth tug roughly at his earlobe and growl into his cheek, Hanbin can only release a high-pitched whine in response. It’s not loud, but it’s enough to encourage Bobby for now as he dives down to suck and tease the nipples beneath him. 

Without realising, Hanbin comes again, only slightly embarassed at reaching climax twice before the other. The fingers just worked into him so perfectly, giving him everything and not enough at the same time. 

But he knows what Bobby is doing, or attempting to do. The hand that pulls out of him only gives him temporary relief, but then he feels the tip of something worse inching its way into him. 

“Stop...” He chokes, dry sobs rake his body by now. He can’t cry, can’t let himself, but he knows that one more orgasm would bring him exactly to that point. Bobby pauses at his outburst, leans up to place lips _ so close _ to his. Untouching, nothing more than an exchange of air; small shushing noises escaping them yet less concerned than they at first appear. 

“Who fucks you?” He says to his ear, then. Hanbin shivers in response, shaking his head in a last semblance of clear-mindedness even though his whole body screamed for him to give in. But Bobby refuses to take silence as an answer, so he says it again. Angrier, huskier. _ “Who fucks you?” _

“You! You…” Hanbin can feel it, the slight prickle in his eyes. He breathes sharper, futilely trying to stamp the feeling down into non-existence. Bobby nips at his neck in a twisted gratitude, leaving marks that never quite stay: impermanent, ephemeral. As fleeting as everything in their set-up always is. 

“And do you want me to stop?” Hanbin looks up then, meeting eyes for the first time that night. He sees the world and more in the lighter ones before him, and as always wonders what the other pair sees in his. 

An escape, perhaps. 

Or a series of what ifs that are never quite persuading enough to harden into realities.

Hanbin wants to lie. Yet pinned under that gaze, he can do anything but. Bobby always did have an ability of dragging his most unwanted monsters out of him and displaying them for everyone to see. Praising, caressing, as though they were as beautiful and worthy of love as any other part of him. 

Not that it made any difference in the end: the monsters were always buried back deeper than before when he left again. It was just false pretences, as always. Words that were scuplted to soothe but left only scars in their wake when their meaning was not met. 

_ “Don’t stop.” _He hates himself. Hates his weak heart, his weak body. Hates how he enjoys the stretch as Bobby sinks in deeper, how he hooks his legs behind his back to pull him even closer. Hates how his beaten and bloodied heart still flips pathetically when Bobby brushes a hand through his hair so gently, leaning up to place a soothing kiss on his forehead. He hates even more how he begins to choke up at the action, feels the wetness threatening to escape his screwed shut eyes.

_ Tears. _ Such a disgusting human flaw, a symbol of nothing more than insecurity and weakness. Hanbin doesn’t cry, not usually anyway, he knew that. And Bobby knew that too, which is why he dragged him to this state in the first place. He knows him too well, once again. Gives Hanbin a release that he more than refuses, because he _ knows _he’ll feel better after. 

He doesn’t want to feel better. It only means he’ll keep returning to this vice of theirs. 

“Good boy, just let go.” Bobby is grinding into him deep now; biding his time, calmly watching Hanbin fall apart. 

“I hate you.” It sounds weak, even to his own ears, his voice nothing short of trembling and breaking down.

“That’s not what you really want to say.” Bobby’s voice is so _ steady, _ so _ collected _and_ unaffected. _ And Hanbin hates it, hates how _ knowing _he sounds. But he’s right, he’s always right, because Hanbin can’t hate _him_. No matter how deeply he tries. 

So he utters the words he truly wants to say instead, “I love you.” Then again, “I love you, so much. _ So, so much.” _ Bobby retaliates by driving into him deeper, hitting that spot that makes Hanbin’s back arch and hands tighten into the sheets beneath him. It doesn’t stop him, though. 

A dam is broken by the first confession, and now he can’t stop saying it. Three words, just these three words, so long overdue yet so unwanted. Now a chant that works him up more and more, bringing him closer to that point that he doesn’t _ want to reach_, but knows it’s too late to turn back. 

_ “So why can’t you love me back?” _In an instant, Bobby buries himself deep into Hanbin and tugs harshly at Hanbin’s own length to bring him to climax. Hanbin’s shaking vividly through it; Bobby’s own orgasm following a few heavy thrusts later. 

The third and final time brings Hanbin over the edge completely: ugly tears now chasing eachother down his cheeks and violent, wet sobs escaping his lips. Bobby stays inside Hanbin for a few moments, just catching his breath before pulling out. 

He stares sadly at the other’s broken expression, unable to help himself from pressing sorrowful kisses onto the damp cheeks. Then he places himself onto his side; positioning to rest his chest against the back of the younger, holding him tightly as he weeps into himself.   


No amount of cuddling or sex could stop it from hurting; the harsh ripping out of Hanbin’s own heart. He weeps in the arms of the only man he has ever loved, a man that cared for him in every way except the way he needed. A man who would let him fall asleep in his false comfort, yet let himself out before the other woke up the next morning. A man who would within the next few days return to his own life again, to his house four hours away and the arms of his own beloved fiancé.   


He doesn’t feel it, however, through the fog of his overwhelming fatigue; when said man can’t hold back his own tears from dampening the trembling of Hanbin’s shoulder. Or when he utters two words, laced with such unjustified pain, as the darkness gradually befalls them both.

“I’m sorry.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Lol I’m sorry don’t unstan me for crushing all ur hopes and dreams ,, 
> 
> Writing is a way for me to vent my own issues hence this depressing shitfest ...
> 
> Feel free to scream at me on twitter @aj_binc and please comment so I can know y’all opinions


End file.
